


I'm not perfect, but I'm trying

by kitkat0723



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Coping skills are meant to help you, Eddie Diaz Week 2020, Eddie needs so much therapy, Gen, Not Beta Read, Talking about your feelings, The 118 pays all of Franks bills, Therapy, canon compliant (sort of), music therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24751954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat0723/pseuds/kitkat0723
Summary: Pulling the card out of his pocket, he examines it. Therapy. Great. As if Eddie needed another thing on his already monumental ‘I fucked this up too’ list.
Relationships: Eddie Diaz & Evan "Buck" Buckley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: Eddie Diaz Week 2020





	I'm not perfect, but I'm trying

**Author's Note:**

> There's a gif set out there from one of Ryan's movies and he's playing the guitar. I saw it and I wanted a fic so bad of Eddie playing the guitar and this week popped up and I knew if I wanted to "See" Eddie playing the guitar, I had to do it myself. My brother in law taught me many things, while he played music and I saw how beneficial it was to him. So now, you get to see Eddie learning something new and discovering it's okay to not be okay. 
> 
> Written for day two of Eddie Diaz Week : Mr. Diaz goes to therapy. 
> 
> We all love Buddie, but this was something I felt Eddie needed to do himself, even if he revealed himself to his best friend at the end. I didn't intend for it to be this long, but well, what can I say. It needed to be written this way.  
> Big huge thanks to @insanejuliann (marveling Jules on tumblr) who talked to me about a few things and yelled at this fic to be nice!  
> Rated M because of all the swearing and because of the subject matter :)  
> Not Beta read because i wrote this late and am now just finishing at 6 am because Eli's fic kept me up late. (You need to go read her day 2. No, seriously. GO! READ IT!)

His head is pounding and his heart feels like it’s been wrung out to dry. He’d just finished pouring everything out to Bobby. It’s not that his father wasn’t a bad father, he just wished he was a little bit more like Bobby. He’s so used to  _ ‘suck it up and move on’,  _ he’s still dazed by what just happened, with quiet patience and a few choice words, Eddie broke. He stepped into the bathroom and splashed some water onto his face. Leaning against the wall, he gives himself a few minutes. Pulling the card out of his pocket, he examines it. Therapy. Great. As if Eddie needed another thing on his already monumental  _ ‘I fucked this up too’ _ list. Bobby told him it wasn’t an option anymore. It was now being made mandatory. He’d finished with the best record in the academy and hoped to keep it going, but well, when all of life’s bullshit drops right onto your shoulders there’s only so much you can hold until you crumble.    
Picking up his bag, he walks right out of the firehouse and to his truck. Tossing his bag into the back, he jumps into the driver seat and heads home. If anyone questions why he left so early, he knows Bobby will take care of it. Right now he doesn’t want anyone to see how broken he’s become. He’s the one who holds it all together, always has been. He can’t let them see just how far he’s shattered. Doesn’t want them to see. It’s a weakness he can’t afford to show. Pulling back into the driveway he left two hours ago, he can only be thankful Christopher is at School right now. He heads inside and hangs up his bag, then heads down to his bed. Holding it together was exhausting. Too much. He’d spoken out loud all the things that he never wanted to unbury and unburden to another soul. It could have been good, he would have tried. Then she broke his heart again, and again, and finally she shattered their son.    
He knows crying about it won’t solve a fucking thing, but here in his room, in his home, he really doesn’t give a damn. No one is there to see. He lets it all go in the safety of his small scared space.    
***   
The therapist's office is spacious and only has a single chair in the room. At first he was puzzled by it, but sat down anyway. He was, much to his own bewilderment somehow expecting the cliched movie version of a psychologist's office. The VA’s had been like that and he hated it. The atmosphere in this office is a little easier to handle, but he’s still tense. Still has so much anger and pain. He sits with his back straight, trying not to pick at his fingernails as he waits. He fucking hates waiting. He’s surprised when Frank comes into the room, wheeled in, actually. He’s missing a leg. It’s jarring, but he’d seen enough injuries so it’s not something that sticks into his brain.    
Frank extends his hand and offers a hello. His voice is almost like Bobby’s when he’s trying to calm someone down. Sitting back into his wheelchair, Frank opens a black notepad. “Eddie, do you want to tell me why you’re here?”    
Eddie’s puzzled. Shouldn’t he already know this? “Didn’t they put it down when they made the appointment?”    
Frank’s smile is brief. “They tell me who needs to be seen. They tell me, in short whether or not I am to determine if a first responder is fit for duty. They tell me nothing beyond that. So, why are you here today? I looked over your record. It’s spotless.”    
“Not anymore,” Eddie mumbled, nerves jittering along his skin.    
“What was that? I can’t help, Eddie if I don’t know. We can sit here in silence if you want, but in order for this to work you have to at least try.”    
Taking a deep breath, he already hates this, Eddie repeats himself. “Not anymore, it’s not spotless.”    
The other man tilts his head, hums in thought. “Why is that?”    
“I screwed up. My captain sent me here because I was caught street fighting.”    
“I see.” Frank scribbles something on his paper and it grates on Eddie’s nerves. He wants this to be over with. Just done.    
“Why were you fighting?”    
Shrugging, he leans back in the chair a little, trying to regain feeling in his ass. “It’s...Was only supposed to help every once in a while. I got addicted to the adrenaline.”    
“It’s a very powerful thing all on it’s own. And the fighting, did it help?”   
“Sort of?” Eddie doesn’t really know anymore. It’s been a week since he put some guy's nose into his brain. He can’t go back to the warehouse, the promoter doesn’t want him.    
“Did you feel better after hitting something?”    
Eddie’s answering laugh was sour. “Kind of? It silenced a lot of the sh-stuff, spinning around up here.” Eddie circled his head, which caused Frank to write something else down. And  _ dammit  _ Eddie did not mean to sound like he’d actually gone fucking crazy. He shifted, and planted both feet on the floor, his leg starting to bounce as he ended up doing the one thing he hated. He was biting his nails, but he couldn’t stop himself. Today was going to be a long day, considering he had to go to work after this. He wasn’t quite sure about not working with the guys on back-up shift, but well, he did have bills after all.    
They talk some more before Frank sets him up with more appointments. He knows he has to keep them if he wants to keep his job. Maybe in the long run it’ll help, but he doubts it. It’s just another thing for him to lie in bed at night and worry about. When he leaves the office building he takes a deep breath and then heads home. Maybe, just maybe things will work out and he won’t fuck this up. If he’s honest with himself, he just doesn’t know anymore. He hates who he’s become. He hates every thought in his head. From the lawsuit, to Shannon, to Christopher’s nightmares. To his time overseas. He just hates and hates and hates. Maybe he can learn to love something, or maybe even himself, but he doesn’t have the first clue on how to go about learning to love yourself for the first time.    
  


Therapy isn’t working, just like he knew it wouldn’t. It’s not that he isn’t trying. There’s just something not right. Not fighting is a scratch he can’t itch. And Frank just sits there, week after week, trying to pull out of him, everything that’s wrong. But he just can’t.    
“I want to discuss something with you.” Frank says when they’re settled for another round of therapy.    
“Okay?” Eddie’s not sure where this is going or if he likes the sound of it.    
Frank pulls papers from his little planner/notebook combo and hands them over to Eddie. “The VA has very good resources, and I know the last time we spoke you had a reluctance to go to anymore therapy than necessary, but I feel these might help along with your weekly sessions here.”    
Eddie briefly looks over them. Art therapy, Hypnotherapy, sensory therapy. He frowns. They all sound...not for him. He looks up at Frank, who’s looking tentatively back at him. “I don’t..” Eddie starts, but has no idea where he’s going with it.    
“Take those home, look into them. See what you think. I really think having another outlet that isn’t me, will work for you.”    
“Okay.” He sets them down, ready to endure another hour and fifteen minutes of talking about what the hell is wrong with him and everything bad that’s ever gone wrong in his life.    
Once at home, Eddie sets up his laptop on the coffee table and gets himself another cup of coffee. He has to be to work in a few hours, so he might as well do some research. But he’s no Buck. He knows if he asks Buck, his best friend will have every detail he wanted to know and not wanted to know about any kind of therapy. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself further, so he keeps it quiet.    
Heading into work, the mood is still somber. Hen’s laugh isn’t around, thanks to the crash last week. Hopefully she’ll find what she needs with Karen dragging her to the renewal spa, or whatever the hell it was. They’re sitting around chatting and of course therapy is brought up. It was the first place he’d ever been where therapy was an active conversation topic. A change, sure but with how much of a trauma magnet the 118 was, he was thankful they didn’t follow his fathers, suck it up and move on way of dealing with things. He’d tried it and gotten a solid firm push into the why, even if it wasn’t working for him.    
After a lot of research, he settles on music therapy. At this point, he’ll try anything just to make everyone stop tiptoeing around him. He goes, expecting flutes and gongs and other instruments he wouldn’t know from Adam, even after his research. But he was surprised. The class isn’t how he expects it to be, and what’s more shocking is he’s asked to select an instrument to learn how to play. He settles on the guitar, it’s safer for home than a lot of the others and he knows he can borrow his cousins if push comes to shove. Sure it’s another expense he’ll stay up thinking about, but well, he needs something. The itch to fight is less and less, thanks to Buck coming over and shoving him out of bed for early morning runs after Carla takes Christopher to school. Eddie still doesn’t tell him about the therapy.    
***   
It’s been a month of classes and trying to figure out the guitar. The person teaching them wants them to learn a song, which okay, he might be able to do. But he hasn’t a clue what. He searches for something and ends up finding a rock song that he likes, it sounds like him. Sure, he’s not learning the bass, but music is subjective and he knows a lot of great covers that have been turned acoustic. He’s nothing like a rockstar, and he won’t be singing it, Eddie just thinks it would be nice to hear it without background. The Teacher helps him find the sheet music by some miracle.    
He practices when he’s home by himself while Chris is at school or when he has a sleepover. Sitting in the chair in the living room, or sometimes with his back against the headboard and the sheet music laid out on the bed next to him. The rhythm of trying to learn the song pulling him out of his head.    
He tells Frank about it at his next session. While they’re no longer mandated sessions, and Frank usually works on a ‘ _ when you need me, I'll be here,’  _ basis, Eddie keeps going.    
“So, um. I’m still doing Music therapy.” It’s the first time he’s spoken unprompted inside these walls.    
Frank shifts in his chair, gives Eddie his attention. “Well since you’re still actively participating, you must like it.”    
“It gets me out of my head. There’s,” he puffs out a breath, "there’s still a lot, ya know?” Frank nods his understanding. “But, it’s relaxing. Most of the time, overseas, and now, with work, there was, is, no time to relax.”    
“And playing the guitar, learning the chords, it’s helping, to relax you?”    
“I’ve almost got it, there’s just one part that I haven’t figured out. It might be because of the type of guitar, but,” Eddie shrugs. “I like the acoustic.”    
“That’s great that you’ve found something to help you Eddie. That’s all I wanted when I presented the other options. I’m shocked you’re still coming here. Your mandated sessions have been over for two weeks.”    
“It’s helping… I’m not quick to anger, so much. And I’ve been working out more. Evan.. Buck.. I mean, he drags me out of the house to run.”    
“That’s great. We’re not striving for perfection, just progress and you’ve made a ton of progress, Eddie. Why don’t we switch your appointments to every two weeks?”    
“Okay.” Eddie’s going to feel weird not having somewhere to be twice a week, for himself. But, if Frank thinks he’s ready, he guesses he is.    
“Do your co-workers, family know about the music therapy?”    
“No, I… I haven’t told them. I’ve been keeping it to myself. I don’t want them to..”    
“I’m sure they won’t judge you or criticize you, but if you feel this is something you need to keep to yourself, then that’s okay too.”    
Eddie shifts in the white chair, hands wringing in his lap. “I mean, I think Ev..Buck.. knows but, he doesn’t say anything. So I don’t.”    
“You’ll tell them when you’re ready.” Frank’s watch goes off and Eddie stands, shaking out his hands. For some reason speaking about enjoying therapy had his nerves jittering below his skin. Maybe him and Buck can squeeze in a run during shift.    
“See you in two week?” Eddie asks just to make sure.    
“Unless it’s an emergency or you really need to talk, then yes, two weeks.”    
“Thank you.”    
Eddie leaves, taking his time walking to his truck, thinking about everything Frank had said. And about why he wasn’t telling Buck. Sure Buck is there, usually, but sometimes he’s not, and that’s when Eddie can practice and not feel like he’s making a fool of himself. That’s partly why he stays quiet. Sitting in his jeep, he quickly asks Siri to connect to his text messages for Buck. There’s just enough time. And he can trust Buck with just about anything.    
**‘Hey, uh, um, can you meet me at home? My place? I want to show you something.’** **  
** After he sends the text, he sits in the truck for another ten minutes before putting it into gear and making his way out of the lot. Buck isn’t there yet when he gets home, thankfully. He starts the coffee pot, and then heads to his room, and to the closet, pulling out the guitar he’d bought off his cousin. When it was clear he was going to continue with it, he just asked Victor to sell it to him. His front door opens a few minutes later and taking a deep breath, he heads out to the kitchen.    
Buck is leaning against his counter, t-shirt and jeans on, his usually civilian clothes before work. He looks relaxed as he sips from the mug he uses that migrated to Eddie’s from his own apartment. He smiles when Eddie comes in. “Is Chris learning Guitar and hasn’t told me?”    
Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “No, actually,” he takes a deep breath, before looking up into Buck’s eyes. “I am.”    
Buck’s eyes go wide and Eddie waits for him to start laughing, making a joke. “Wow. That’s..I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say something?” Buck’s question is devoid of his usual teasing.    
Eddie leaned the guitar against the cabinet, and reached for his own coffee mug before shrugging. “I didn’t want to be laughed at.” He passes a hand over his hair before reaching for the coffee pot. “It’s part of therapy.”    
“Wait,” Buck holds up his hand, “Frank does music therapy?”    
Eddie laughs. “No, no. It’s um, in addition to seeing Frank. It’s helping with trying to relax.”    
“Oh, well I guess dragging you out on runs with me was pointless.”   
“What?” Eddie’s puzzled at Buck’s statement.    
“That’s why I kept asking you, or rather dragging you out on runs. I mean, I’m not going to say I don’t enjoy the company, but I figured after fighting you needed something physical to keep you busy.”    
“I mean, I do. I like going on the runs. But this,” He sweeps his hand towards the guitar, “is something to relax me, and it helps with my focus so I’m not trying to punch someone or something when shit gets too tough at work.”    
“That’s why I run.” Buck shrugs like it’s no big deal. But to Eddie it is. Buck’s been sharing a part of himself, like he always does, for over a month. And Eddie kept this from him.    
He’s not trying to be a horrible friend, and he knows Buck knows that. “I’m uh..” Shit this was embarrassing. How do you tell your best friend you’re learning one of his favorite songs without making it weird. “Next time, I practice, you can come help me. I’m having issues with a few of the chords.”    
Buck laughed, and looked at him in bewilderment. “Eds, I don’t know a damn thing about music.”    
“No, but knowing you, you’re now going to be on your phone the entire time we’re not on a call researching music therapy and how it helps and all this random shit I never even thought to research when Frank handed me those pamphlets a month ago.”    
Red sneaks up his best friends neck and to the tips of his ears. If you ever want a thousand random facts on something, or even if you don’t, Evan Buckley is who you need to see. He’s the one eight-teen’s walking encyclopedia.   
“I like to know things,” was all Buck said and brought his cup to his lips.    
“I know. When I started researching, I was going to call you. I didn’t,” he holds up a hand when he sees Buck frowns. Buck nods his go-ahead. “Because I wanted to do this on my own. Yes, we tell each other pretty much everything, but Buck, man, I was way out of my depth to begin with.”    
Buck turns and sets his cup down and then smiles at Eddie. “Fair point. And yes, I am going to go look it up, but I have one question.”    
“Hmm?”    
“What other therapy did Frank offer you?”    
Eddie takes a deep breath and knows it’ll be okay and that he’s not going to be made fun of. And he’ll hear facts about a million different therapies for weeks, but for the first time since he’d gotten served papers for a lawsuit and the first time since the demons inside his mind started clawing their way out, he can breathe again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comments make my day. Find me on tumblr @kitkat0723 
> 
> I've been listening to a lot of Papa Roach as part of my own brand of therapy, so the song Eddie is learning is Problems. It's my own way of putting my favorite music into my fics (As I usually do). That's also where the title comes from. 
> 
> It's okay to not be okay and to talk about your feelings.


End file.
